


blue.

by Wint3r_B3ar



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28471875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wint3r_B3ar/pseuds/Wint3r_B3ar
Summary: Caspar's been gone for years. Hilda works on moving on.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	blue.

Contrary to popular belief, Hilda’s favorite isn’t pink.

Sure, she's known for the color. Pink hair, pink eyes. Everything- pink.

Hilda isn’t sure she's ever told anyone her favorite color, not even her brother or….or her best friend Marianne.

But her favorite color is-well come to think of it, Marianne's hair is also blue.

It may as well have been another color altogether. Crazy how shades of the same color can vary so wildly , huh? Because hers is this cornflower blue, almost like a rare sapphire or a blue diamond even while his…

Anyways. Hilda firmly reminds herself that today she is going to focus on self-care with her friends, lounging in bed eating French pastries and Almyran takeout.

Speaking of Marianne, she's coming into the room now holding a bag of pastries.

“Marianne, darling! Its been too long!”

Marianne’s face lights up as much as Hilda's ever seen it and she comes over to the bed to give Hilda a sweet kiss over her head.

“Hello Hilda,” She smoothly wipes a thumb down Hilda's cheek even though who said anything about crying?

Ok maybe a few tears escaped out of her eyes but its because she's excited to see her friend in so long, alright? Cut her a break because it’s been a long day and a half and besides, not all tears are sad are we clear?

“There, there,” Marianne murmurs under her breath and Hilda just wishes she'd be a little less gentle because then she wouldn’t be so weepy but alas. Here she is, a crying mess and the worst bit is Leonie and Lysithea aren’t even _here_ yet.

Hilda shudders at the thought and clings to Marianne's soft cashmere sweater.

Despite how utterly miserable she's feeling ( _fine,_ sheesh, does it make you feel better _forcing_ Hilda acknowledge she's miserable?), Hilda appreciates the soft texture of the sweater and laughs softly at the absurdity of it all.

“Ugh, I hate that I’m still so affected by this. Its been seven fucking years.” Hilda sits up and brushes her hand against her nose.

Great. Now her makeup is going to be ruined. Not that she thinks her friends from forever ago would ever _care_ but it’s the principle of the thing.

Hilda is a grown woman. She is well adjusted, successful and has great coping skills.

She…she just doesn’t want to fall apart like this every year.

That’s reasonable, though, right? Like every year her friends shouldn’t _have_ to come over her house armed with a shit ton of junk food and movies just to keep her feeling human, right?

“Has it really been that long?” Marianne breathes as she finally releases Hilda. She smoothes out errant pink strands away from her face and her eyes look so sad, Hilda can’t stand it.

“I know. Bummer, huh?”

“Seven years. Yes, I guess so, since I’m 32 now.”

“Don’t even _say_ that, Mari. I thought we all agreed we're going to stay 25 forever.” Leonie grins as she waltzes into the room, holding up a nondescript plastic bag, “I come bearing booze.”

Lysithea, following behind her with a train case, rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what everyone's fixation with age is. I just tell people I’m 29. No big deal.”

She pauses and eyes the bag left on Hilda's nightstand.

“OK, Balthazars? Marianne, I love you.”

“Lys, you do realize _you_ were the one with the hyperfixation on age?” Leonie snorts and comes over to give Hilda a hug.

“How you doing, sweetheart? You look like shit. Sorry, but you do. Thank God you’re a cutie though.”

Hilda rolls her eyes and punches Leonie lightly in her arm, “You’re a jerk. Never change, Leonie. What did you bring me?”

Marianne is already rustling through the bag and makes a face, “Well, there’s some beers and a bottle of vodka.”

Vodka? Gross. Leonie's been hanging out a little too much with Felix, Hilda guesses, because _no one_ in her Alliance social group drinks the stuff.

But maybe she has a point. Felix knows a thing or two about losing people, too.

“Hey, don’t knock it til you try it. That’s the _good_ stuff. You’ll see.” Leonie winks as she makes room for Lysithea.

“Don’t worry,” the baby of the group whispers, “I brought some wine.”

Hilda grins and returns the hug as Lysithea gets comfortable on her bed. She pops open her train case, pulls out a bunch of face masks, jelly candies and a bottle of cabernet.

“Here. You’re going to need the masks after all this crying.” She pats Hilda’s shoulder and turns the TV on.

For the moment, Hilda feels warm and safe, sandwiched between her friends. Then Marianne leaves the room-presumably to order Almyran delivery.

Leonie sighs as the _Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure_ loads on the screen. “I really wish his favorite movie had been something else. I do really miss that kid sometimes.”

 _(Bill and Ted_ had not, in fact, been his favorite movie. _Titanic_ was, but somehow the plot hits a little too close to home and anyways, that had been their _own,_ private little thing.

That’s the kind of guy he'd been. A hopeless romantic in secret. _Their_ secret.)

There's a wistful, sad kinda sound to Leonie that usually comes when she's talking of her childhood or Jeralt-or were they one and the same?

At any rate, it makes Hilda burst into a fresh set of tears because she just _knows_ if he'd had a chance to see the _The Notebook,_ he'd have loved it, too.

Leonie and Lysithea quickly hush her tears and offer her tissues, hugs and kisses.

Hilda laughs through the tears and wipes her eyes, “Oh geez. He'd have been so excited for the new movie.”

“Yeah, he probably would have.” Lysithea's also wearing a wistful look, a smile flitting on her lips, “Wanna go with me and Cyril? We already have our tickets reserved.”

“There's another movie? I didn’t know about this.” Leonie settles back into the pillows and helps herself to a packet of gummy peaches.

“Get with the times, Leonie. God.” Lys grabs some of the gummies, Leonie reaches out to pinch her stomach playfully and they’re a tangle of limbs and giggles.

Marianne comes back from ordering delivery (presumably).

The movie plays in the background but none of them are too invested in watching and they spend the time instead catching up.

Lysithea is showing Leonie what their friends have been up to through her Instagram and they get to a #TBT post on Ferdinand's page.

She jerks the phone out of view from everyone before they can even see the post. All Hilda catches is a floofy white dress and…oh.

It must be a photo from his and Dorothea's wedding. When he had his house mates as his groomsmen and-

Yes. Hilda remembers the day of (and the months leading up to) the wedding very well.

 _I can’t exactly have the crown princess as a bridesmaid,_ Dorothea had sighed, _please, please be a bridesmaid?_

Like she even had to ask. Even back in university, Hilda had thought the blue-haired brawler was pretty cute, if a bit obtuse.

Hilda remembers how Ferdinand had booked them private dancing lessons _just in case (not for you, Hilda,_ Ferdie had promised lol) but being pleasantly surprised by how well he danced.

_I grew up in a noble household, dancing was mandatory. Besides, agility and footwork are important in fighting._

_Why didn’t you just tell Ferdie then? That you already know how to dance?_

She remembers his blush, the pink she’s so used to, so foreign against his…blue.

_Because. He said it would be with you._

“Can I see the photo?”

The three look at each other and Hilda sighs as she gently takes the phone out from Lys's hand.

And there he is. Standing beside her looking so handsome in his tux. Everyone else has these stiff smiles from posing so much and Hubert’s barely looking at the camera but _his_ looks genuine.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt as much as she'd thought it would to look at his picture.

“Remember how Ferdie wanted everyone to fly in three days before the wedding so we could _partake in all the festivities_?” Leonie starts cracking up and is joined by Marianne's polite titters and a huff from Lysithea.

“You think three days is bad? I had to be there a week in advance.” Hilda grins and sips from her cabbie.

“That’s right. You were a bridesmaid.” Marianne smiles and twists her own ring.

 _Three times the bridesmaid, never the bride_. Ugh. Hilda swallows away the thought and clears her throat.

“Yup. Thankfully it wasn’t so bad. It was like vacation, really.”

And it was. An all expense paid vacation because the von Aegirs have stupid kind of money and even bigger airs.

Private bungalows over the water with glass bottoms and champagne for days. Soft, blindingly white sand, cloudless skies, hot humid heat.

And the water…

Clear and warm and a beautiful shade of blue. Like aquamarine but better.

Almost the same shade as the most beautiful blue she'd ever seen.

“Caspar blue,” she whispers to herself.

“Huh? Hilda did you say something?” Leonie blinks, she'd been in the middle of telling a story about the wedding (probably the time Annette outdrank Sylvain in a drinking contest and made him shave his godawful beard) and Hilda shakes her head.

“I was…just thinking. About the water there, how it was the same color as…Caspar’s hair.” Her voice is small but stable and she's oddly at peace.

Marianne is the first to react.

“Oh Hilda. Yes, yes the waters were so beautiful, weren’t they? Just like Caspar.” she sweeps Hilda into a giant hug again.

Lys looks like she's going to cry and Leonie is already wiping away her eyes.

“Aw, goddamnit. Yeah he was cute, I have to admit. So cut. And perfectly tanned, too.”

“Remember when all the girls that one day on the beach started checking out the boys? Oh God, remember Lorenz's speedo??” Lysithea shivers and Marianne blushes as Leonie lets out a hoot of laughter.

“God, yes. He was so funny looking in it, too. Thank God he's filled out some since then.”

Hilda’s eyes are swimming in tears as she also joins in with giggles.

She hopes Caspar is proud of her, lord knows how difficult it’s been for her the past seven years to talk about him sober. Especially on the anniversary of…his passing.

God she misses him.

They spend a good chunk of time trading stories and getting progressively drunker as the day wore on and by the time her friends are knocked out all over her house she feels pretty plastered herself.

Hilda wonders if she should get to bed but she's also feeling brave for the first time in a while.

She cradles a bottle of water and settles cross legged on the floor of her walk in closet. There is a box hidden in the very back that she hasn’t touched in a very long time.

Hilda eyes the box like it’s haunted. Finally, finally she is able to muster up the courage to drag out the giant orange box.

She takes a deep breath and runs a finger over an edge.

Seven years, huh? It went by so fast, too.

Honestly, she thought she'd be over it by now. The first year went by in daze, where she was mostly in a state of shock and weepy disbelief. Then the next two years she waffled between angry and depressed. When the fourth year came around, she pulled everything she still had lying around of his and put it into this box.

Two years she spent actively trying to forget about him. Then, when she actually did start to feel better, get on with her life, the guilt started.

Nowadays, she's more or less adjusted. Sometimes, and _only_ sometimes, she gets hung up over it.

But when she does get hung up over it, Hilda just wishes she could rail into him and blame him for ruining her life but then that would mean he'd still be here and oh, wouldn’t she just love that?

She smirks to herself as she taps the box like he could see her.

“You always were so oblivious.”

She clings to the very last bits of her buzz as she wonders just how long she's sat here. Rocking onto her knees, she grasps the box cover.

 _Ok. Ok_ , she can do this.

_Just, open the damn box, Hilda._

Her arms are shaking and her breaths are coming in fast and hot. She feels her resolve just…leaking out of her.

Hilda collapses onto the lid and feels the beginnings of frustrated tears along her lashes. Ugh.

She's always known how weak she is but this disappointing, even for her.

Her closet door creaks open and she jerks upright, wiping away her eyes.

“Hilda.” Marianne crouches down next to her and places a reassuring hand on her arm.

“Hey. What are you doing up?” Hilda manages to smile weakly and Marianne tucks a lock of her pink hair behind her ear.

“Let’s open this together.”

Marianne's hands cover her own and she takes a deep breath. Ok. This was really it.

Oh god.

Know how they say scent is among the strongest in triggering memories?

The first thing that hits her is the strong scent of his cologne- it has somehow come undone and spilled over all the contents within. She's always loved how he'd smelled. Cologne, aftershave, even the musky scent of his sweat lingering after a workout.

Hilda slams the box back shut.

“No. I’m sorry. Not…not yet.”

…

Now she's haunted.

It's been weeks since she's opened the box but his scent follows her around.

She's taken to sleeping in her studio since his…haunting becomes stronger in her room.

But now the weather's too cold for her to live off of the limited selection she keeps at her studio and she begrudingly finds herself back in her closet one Saturday afternoon.

It’s still sitting in the middle of the floor. Mocking her, she thinks.

“You know, the more you chase me, the more I won’t fall for it. I won’t.” She frowns as if Caspar were here to see her do so, pouts at the box for good measure too.

She goes through a few racks and drawers before turning back to him, er, the box.

“OK. Fine. Since you’re so insistent, I’ll open it today.” She bites her lower lip, “But let me just. I’ll be right back.”

If Hilda feels self conscious talking to a box, she doesn’t show it.

Armed with a big bottle of vodka-Leonie _was_ right, it really was the best- she crouches down in front of the box.

_This is for you, Caspar._

This time she keeps her eyes closed, waiting for the initial _feeling_ to pass.

When she's sufficiently used to the scent, she cracks an eye open and then the other.

Oh geez.

Hilda can’t believe it. The happiest bits of the happiest four and a half years of her life, packed into a box that’s used to store her birkin. Little odds and ends.

It’s all so meaningless in the end.

She chugs another gulp from her bottle, grimacing as it burns down her throat.

Well. She’s already done the hardest part. Might as well go through its contents.

Her fingers touch the dried petals of a flower, a single rose from a giant bouquet he'd gotten her _just because_ even though her favorite flowers were anemones. A suggestion from Ferdinand, she'd found out later.

A worn towel, one he used to take to the gym. She brings it to her nose and for just the quickest of moments, she catches a whiff of _him,_ not the cologne or after shave. _Caspar_

Its enough to break her heart.

There’s a bunch of photographs, some Polaroids. Her journal from those days. Ticket stubs from movie dates and theater shows and concerts. A conch shell he'd brought back for her from a trip to Brigid.

Then there is the stuffed teddy he won for her at the carnival. He'd had to try so many times to knock over all the cans (and they both knew the bear wasn’t worth all that coin) but it was the principle of the thing.

 _I’m not letting you go home without a prize._ Hilda remembers oddly enough watching a small bead of sweat drip down his temple, over his jaw clenched in concentration. She remembers how proud he'd been and how big her heart felt then and the taste of spun sugar in his mouth…

Ugh. Here’s the plastic ring he got out of a quarter machine when she was feeling a teeny bit jealous that Annette had gotten engaged. They'd been hanging out at the local pizzeria outside the university. She could still feel the cool, spring breeze of Garreg Mach at night, see the oil stained napkins littering the formica table.

 _I’m happy for her, really. I am. They’re perfect for each other and if you know you want to spend the rest of your life with this person early then great. I just never saw myself as the type to just, I don’t know, settle down so young you know? I’m not obsessed, I just wished I had a ring is all,_ she had been in a middle of ranting and raving about the engagement ( _she's only 22! How do you know you want to spend the rest of your life with someone at 22?!_ She'd said) when Caspar polished off the last of the pie.

Halfway during her rant, his eyes had glazed over and she'd tapped his foot with hers impatiently.

_Hello? Are you listening to me?_

And he'd flashed her one of his smug smiles before digging into the pocket of his jeans, _just a ring huh?_

Oh lord, how nervous she'd been then, thinking Caspar also had a ring for her. But no. He'd fished out a quarter which he then used to win a heart shaped plastic ring.

_Hilda Valentine Goneril, will you do me the honor of accepting this ring as a placeholder until you think you’re ready to marry me? I promise to get you a really nice ring then._

And it hadn’t even mattered to Hilda that the ring didn’t fit any of her fingers. After all, she'd just wanted Caspar, really.

The ring had been just a formality.

She wonders what kind of ring he would’ve gotten her?

There’s just so much more to him than this box. Its not fair, really.

Because there's nothing left of how he'd make her breakfast before leaving for work or school. Or of the way he used to quietly finish her chores when she wasn’t feeling it and encouraging her when she was.

How he used to always, always soak his shoulder wet trying to keep her dry under the umbrella. That one winter he'd come over early in the mornings to dig out her car before she had to go to school. And his smile when she'd make him hot chocolate from a packet like it was the best thing in the world.

None of that is captured. Hilda isn’t sure there is a way to capture them.

As it is, her own memories are starting to fail her. They’re just the slightest bit faded around the edges, distorted like looking through a glass of water.

She sighs and is about to put the box away when she sees the soft glow of well-loved gold. His watch. The vintage Rolex that used to belong to his grandfather.

She'd forgotten about the watch, honestly, but now remembers how he used to wear it everyday in remembrance. Its…incredible she even has it-Hilda would have thought the watch would have gone back to his family?

Even so. She's not about to spit in the face of a small blessing.

The watch is heavy in her hand and still. She winds the watch and when it starts to tick, she brings it up against her ear.

Tick, tick, tick.

It’s not the steady _tha-dump_ of his heartbeat from so long ago but it’s close enough.

The linked bracelet is giant on her slim arm, halfway to her elbow. But there's no way she’ll get it resized.

…

Holst notices right away.

“That’s an old watch.”

“Yep.” She breezes past him and pours herself a coffee from the refreshments bar. The rest of their shareholders and board members have yet to arrive and Hilda is preparing for a long, soul-sucking day of meetings, presentations and polite small talk.

Holst pauses. Hilda quirks an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment.

“It looks good on you.” He finally says. Holst places a heavy hand on her head before pulling her in for a hug, “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

Ugly crying is not a part of the agenda. Hilda will have to add it to the minutes.

…

Ten years after the incident and it’s the first time she's visited Enbarr since the terrible day.

It’s odd to think once upon a time she used to call this city her home.

Hilda wanders the streets, feeling like a stranger. The small restaurants and stores she used to frequent are mostly gone.

Papaya dogs are now three bucks! Three! Good luck finding a true dollar slice, too.

Thankfully some of their old haunts remain and Hilda stares at the mountain of pastrami piled before her in Katz. Despite how hungry she is, just staring at the damn sandwich is making her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth.

She ends up nibbling on a pickle and picking at the meat a little before (regrettably) throwing the whole thing out.

Hilda gets a few things from Balenciaga and a pair of really cute sunnies from Gentle Monster before heading to the memorial park.

The slabs of granite inscribed with the names at the memorial are much larger than she'd anticipated and surprisingly private.

She quietly walks around the perimeter, her eyes searching for his name. There's a heavy lump sitting in her throat and a bee stuck between her ribs.

_Caspar von Bergliez_

There it is. Her fingers graze the grooves of his name.

Hilda had expected a full blown breakdown at the sight. Maybe a little vomit or even a fainting spell.

Instead, her nose gets a tingly, burn-y feeling that is echoed by her eyes a few moments later. Otherwise, she's OK.

This must be what being an adult feels like, Hilda thinks. It hurts, but its manageable and for some reason she smiling?

“Heya, babe.” Her voice is quiet and steady. She pats his name a few more times like she could feel his warm strength behind those letters.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” She pauses and takes out her phone.

“I uh, wanted to show you some photos. Show you what I’ve been up to.” She leans against the ledge and flips through the photos.

Hilda isn’t quite sure she believes in an afterlife. But actually being here and working through the last ten or so years of her life is strangely cathartic.

“So I just wanted to let you know. I’m doing just fine. Like you’ve always told me. It just took me a while to realize it, I guess.” She puts her phone away and settles onto the ground, sitting cross legged as the sun starts to set beyond the trees.

Hilda feels the sun on her face fade little by little and marvels at how at-peace she feels. Truly.

The pain of his loss is still there. Hilda doubts she'll ever get over Caspar-who can, really?- but now there’s a steadiness about her that's been missing since that awful day ten years ago.

Steadiness? That isn’t quite right. She’s feeling…comfortable with herself. Like when wrapped in a blanket on a cloudy day.

Is this self-assuredness? Huh.

She huffs a smile under her breath. It is _just_ like Caspar to inspire confidence in and love for herself. Even after he's gone.

She checks the time on her watch, now resized to fit her wrist. It looks huge on her arm.

Hilda loves it.

6pm

She smiles, if memory serves her right, she could just make happy hour at the Dead Rabbit.

Caspar had always adored their fun cocktails. Hilda thinks she'll get two. Maybe even an order of those scotch eggs.

For Caspar.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a hard time with finding my hilda/caspar voices. this was also written earlier in the year but i hesitated posting this as it is very personal. anyways, thanks for reading :)


End file.
